Live Like You're Dying
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Being pathetically single for 7 months now – even though I’m having the time of my life, but apparently being single means you’re pathetic – means I’ve had numerous opportunities to engage in reckless behaviours. For starters, I have no manly arm to hold onto while fearfully crossing the crazy Chinese roads. Gone are the days when I needed permission from my beau to go clubbing, get lunch with a male friend or even eat food he hates. But the past 7 months have really taken a toll on me – physically and mentally.
I won’t get into any details (I’ll save my misdemeanors for my anonymously written, scandalous novel), but let’s just say I’ve changed a lot since my first year as a student. I don’t know why I’ve been acting like a dying leukemia patient since my last breakup. I’ve always had the “I’ll try anything once” motto – when it came to tasting food and reading books. But now, the motto has been extended to “I’ve tried everything once, except cocaine, skydiving and manslaughter.” I blame my last boyfriend – he was spontaneous, lazy, clubbing-addicted and drunk for the most part of our bittersweet ordeal. And the very week we broke up, he changed into this psychopath who quit drinking, smoking, clubbing, oversleeping – you name it. I’m just saying the classroom started to see a lot more of him. I wasted months trying to fix him (I guess you could say I’m attracted to lost causes, or as he put it “I’m a masochistic sucker for punishment”), and now I’ve kind of turned into him. To a lesser (way lesser), more civilized extent.
It started off with the tingle you get when you do something bad. Something you consider bad because it’s out of your comfort zone – more so, my nerdy-good-girl expectancies. And now I do things for the thrill of it, and I only do things I want to do. Ergo, I haven’t tried cocaine or skydiving (yet). This week I’ve been tossing and turning in my empty bed, trying to dissect the reasons I became this way… so unsatisfied, and craving more and more reckless behavior.
Okay reason 1: Like Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’ coming-out song that distinguished herself from her conservative upbringing, I too am looking for a way to have fun before I get married to some lame traditional guy my parents approve of.
Reason 2 (This one’s actually hilarious): I am truly, in all honesty, dead scared of growing old. I’m scared of not having enough time to do the things I love while my body can still take the hits. I’m scared of losing precious free time before Med school really gets depressing, or before I become an intern and become really mundane.
Reason 3: College is code for the ‘Slut Years’. It’s the time when you can do anything and get away with anything, because all twenty-something’s are ridiculously retarded and delusional into thinking that they can do anything and get away with anything.
Reason 4: I really feel like I was born in the wrong decade. This is my take on why my New Millenium life sucks. In _______ (insert decade) I will never get to:
1900: Watch the first silent movie.
1910: Obsess over Charlie Chaplin and see the Titanic set sail.
1920: Do the Charleston (Very badly I might add).
1930: Be at the Empire State Building Opening.
1940: Dress like a girl from Pearl Harbor and dance with a sailor.
1950: Watch epic musicals and Marilyn Monroe. James Dean, Elvis & Gene Kelly, hello?! Plus throw in some sexy altered Pearl Harbor fashion, and now you know why this is my favourite decade.
1960: Attend a Beatles concert and exert my freedom to rebel! Do the Twist and stalk Andy Warhol; be a hippie, get high and fight for love…
1970: Go to a disco or rock out to Led Zeppelin.
1980: Obsess over Pac Man and be a Material Girl.
1990: Go to a rave, get The Rachel, smell like teen spirit while being a Posh Spice. Not to mention watch all the amazing sitcoms on TV.
The fact that I really was born in the wrong time upsets me very much. I think reason 4 is the most important reason I act like a dying cancer patient by doing things that might actually kill me: I’m like a jetlagged old guy because I’m in the wrong damn time zone! I don’t have Whatsapp, I have no idea what the point of Instagram in China is if all you’re going to post are pictures of fried noodles, and I will never jump on the Bieber train.
The four reasons above are my excuses for living like it’s my last day on Earth. I don’t think I party hard, but man do I party.
So next time you comment on my unruliness and say, “Enough is enough. That had better be the last vodka shot”, all I’m going to say is: B**ch, build me a time machine.
Peace out.
I won’t get into any details (I’ll save my misdemeanors for my anonymously written, scandalous novel), but let’s just say I’ve changed a lot since my first year as a student. I don’t know why I’ve been acting like a dying leukemia patient since my last breakup. I’ve always had the “I’ll try anything once” motto – when it came to tasting food and reading books. But now, the motto has been extended to “I’ve tried everything once, except cocaine, skydiving and manslaughter.” I blame my last boyfriend – he was spontaneous, lazy, clubbing-addicted and drunk for the most part of our bittersweet ordeal. And the very week we broke up, he changed into this psychopath who quit drinking, smoking, clubbing, oversleeping – you name it. I’m just saying the classroom started to see a lot more of him. I wasted months trying to fix him (I guess you could say I’m attracted to lost causes, or as he put it “I’m a masochistic sucker for punishment”), and now I’ve kind of turned into him. To a lesser (way lesser), more civilized extent.
It started off with the tingle you get when you do something bad. Something you consider bad because it’s out of your comfort zone – more so, my nerdy-good-girl expectancies. And now I do things for the thrill of it, and I only do things I want to do. Ergo, I haven’t tried cocaine or skydiving (yet). This week I’ve been tossing and turning in my empty bed, trying to dissect the reasons I became this way… so unsatisfied, and craving more and more reckless behavior.
Okay reason 1: Like Katy Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’ coming-out song that distinguished herself from her conservative upbringing, I too am looking for a way to have fun before I get married to some lame traditional guy my parents approve of.
Reason 2 (This one’s actually hilarious): I am truly, in all honesty, dead scared of growing old. I’m scared of not having enough time to do the things I love while my body can still take the hits. I’m scared of losing precious free time before Med school really gets depressing, or before I become an intern and become really mundane.
Reason 3: College is code for the ‘Slut Years’. It’s the time when you can do anything and get away with anything, because all twenty-something’s are ridiculously retarded and delusional into thinking that they can do anything and get away with anything.
Reason 4: I really feel like I was born in the wrong decade. This is my take on why my New Millenium life sucks. In _______ (insert decade) I will never get to:
1900: Watch the first silent movie.
1910: Obsess over Charlie Chaplin and see the Titanic set sail.
1920: Do the Charleston (Very badly I might add).
1930: Be at the Empire State Building Opening.
1940: Dress like a girl from Pearl Harbor and dance with a sailor.
1950: Watch epic musicals and Marilyn Monroe. James Dean, Elvis & Gene Kelly, hello?! Plus throw in some sexy altered Pearl Harbor fashion, and now you know why this is my favourite decade.
1960: Attend a Beatles concert and exert my freedom to rebel! Do the Twist and stalk Andy Warhol; be a hippie, get high and fight for love…
1970: Go to a disco or rock out to Led Zeppelin.
1980: Obsess over Pac Man and be a Material Girl.
1990: Go to a rave, get The Rachel, smell like teen spirit while being a Posh Spice. Not to mention watch all the amazing sitcoms on TV.
The fact that I really was born in the wrong time upsets me very much. I think reason 4 is the most important reason I act like a dying cancer patient by doing things that might actually kill me: I’m like a jetlagged old guy because I’m in the wrong damn time zone! I don’t have Whatsapp, I have no idea what the point of Instagram in China is if all you’re going to post are pictures of fried noodles, and I will never jump on the Bieber train.
The four reasons above are my excuses for living like it’s my last day on Earth. I don’t think I party hard, but man do I party.
So next time you comment on my unruliness and say, “Enough is enough. That had better be the last vodka shot”, all I’m going to say is: B**ch, build me a time machine.
Peace out.